


This Silver Bird Takes Me Across the Sky

by Werelibrarian



Series: Home and Dry [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Champagne, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werelibrarian/pseuds/Werelibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy had spent most of his friendship--and a significant chunk of his relationship--with Matt resenting the strappy black Louboutins off of Elektra, but he had to admit she knew how to do brunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Silver Bird Takes Me Across the Sky

Foggy picked up the phone without thinking. "Franklin Nelson."

"I thought you'd be the type to hyphenate. Murdock-Nelson?" The voice was dark and endlessly sexy, and Foggy palmed his forehead.

"Hello Elektra, how are you," he asked, bored and singsong--the tonal equivalent of an eyeroll.

"Still undead, darling, and in New York tomorrow. Brunch?"

"Sure. You're buying though."

"Splendid. Don't bring the wife."

That made Foggy laugh. "Most people consider me the wife."

"Between you, me, and my strap-on, I know better," she sniffed. Foggy considered being outraged on Matt's behalf, but figured he'd get a chance to be outraged on his own behalf soon enough. Sometimes Foggy wondered if Elektra swung through New York just for the opportunity of needling Matt.

"Is Vanessa in town?"

"She's in Athens. Even from prison Fisk would find out if she stepped foot in the states."

Foggy sipped his coffee and made a commiserating sound. "No luck on making the breakup stick, huh?"

Elektra made a noise of frustration, completely at odds with her preternaturally elegant poise. "We sent him a photo of us having sex. Now he thinks he's in a long-distance threesome."

Foggy chewed on his lip. _I will not laugh at the Kingpin_ , he told himself. _I will not laugh at the Kingpin over an unsecured line_.

"Franklin, must dash. My mark is getting out of the bathtub. Hm. Cock the size of a cornichon. Pity."

"Elektra, did you phone me from a strange man's bathroom?" Foggy hissed, and Donald, Foggy's secretary, did a double take. He waved him off.

"Don't be silly, darling, I'm on the roof of the next door villa." She rattled off the name of a midtown restaurant and a time, and hung up.

"Goodbye to you too, princess," he muttered to the dial tone.

**

Foggy had spent most of his friendship--and a significant chunk of his relationship--with Matt resenting the strappy black Louboutins off of Elektra, but he had to admit she knew how to do brunch.

"What is this, Veuve Clicquot? No, we'll have Moët et Chandon--Oh, unless you have the Pol Roger Cuvée Sir Winston Churchill." Elektra laid her nails on the server’s arm and, his colour rising, he demurred that Madame's selection was not on hand. "Mmm. The Moët et Chandon then."

The server filled their flutes with delicate, buttery-golden champagne and toddled off, seeming slightly punch drunk. Foggy understood. Elektra was a laser beam when she wanted to be, and the years hadn’t dulled her at all. She turned her gaze to him, and Foggy was a bit surprised that instead of quailing, he met her superior, snake-like stare with one of his own. He wasn't the law student heartsick at being ditched by his best friend anymore, and he wasn't the young lawyer infuriated and betrayed by his neglectful partner. He stared at her placidly for an eternity, until her lips twitched and she raised her champagne flute. He smirked and lifted his in return. The sound of the expensive crystal touching was sublimely pure, and he knew what Matt was getting for their next anniversary.

"So," Foggy started, "assassinate anyone interesting lately?"

**

By noon, Foggy was delightfully warm with bubbly, and giggling over Elektra's recent attempts to infiltrate an international smuggling ring by posing as a French truffle farmer. The food had been delicious and surprisingly non-dainty, given the amount of white linen and chrome in the joint.

"Come along, princess, I'm sure you want to do some damage to Fifth Avenue before your next mission." He offered her his arm.

She took it and they ambled down the sidewalk. "Ooh, may I borrow Matthew? I always did love dressing him up."

Foggy snorted. "Matt works at a tiny office where everyone wears jeans. I work at a firm made of rich shitheels who judge my hair and think I don’t know which fork to use--which is only some of the time. Buy _me_ a new suit."

Elektra looked him up and down. "Perhaps I shall."

When they got to the apartment Foggy shared with Matt, he turned to her. "You can come up, but be nice. Not Elektra-nice. Actual nice."

Even the moue of hurt that twisted her mouth was captivatingly beautiful. "I'm always nice."

Foggy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm drunk. Let's go troll my husband."

Matt was still asleep when they tiptoed into the apartment. Foggy stood at the foot of the bed and rubbed Matt’s exposed calf.

"Matt, I'm home." Matt grumbled, face down in a pillow. He'd been out until almost dawn. "Come on, pumpkin."

That nickname always made Matt laugh, and sure enough Matt's husky, sleepy chuckle told Foggy he was beginning to wake up.

"Mm. Foggy." Head still buried, Matt swept the sheets off. He arched his back invitingly and he was stark naked.

Foggy sputtered a laugh. Behind him, Elektra was biting her hand.

Still grinning, Foggy covered up Matt's bare ass and patted it lovingly. He pointed Elektra out to the living room. She pouted and reached for the sheets.

Foggy batted at her hands, which was unwise, since they had probably ended a life in the last 48 hour period. But that bare ass didn't belong to her and Foggy protected what was his. Their little slapfight woke Matt the rest of the way up.

"Foggy?" He mumbled. "SHIT, ELEKTRA!"

He backed up so hard he went out the other side of the bed. Foggy and Elektra fell on each other laughing.

Matt popped up, a handful of bedclothes bunched over his junk. "What are you doing here?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, honey, sorry. We had brunch." Foggy rounded the bed to kiss his irate husband, but he kept glaring at Elektra. "There was champagne. Go wait in the living room, Elektra." She huffed, but her eyes kept roaming over Matt’s chest. "Out, princess."

"Fine. But don't fuck."

When she slid the door shut behind her, Matt slumped. "Did she see my butt?"

Foggy bit his lip again. Laughing was probably not a good plan here. "Yeah. Sorry buddy."

Matt rubbed his eyes, grimacing.

"It’s still a good butt though. She seemed impressed." Matt made a 'feh' noise that Foggy found adorable. "Get dressed and come on out. I've halfway talked her into buying us some suits."

"Is that why you're having brunch with Elektra? For the menswear?" Matt asked from inside the depths of his green henley.

"Baby, for a wardrobe of Savile Row, I’d marry her and let her keep me on a leash."

"You can't marry her, she's legally dead. I have her death certificate." Foggy grinned as Matt hopped around trying to get his leg into his jeans. "And we're talking about the leash thing later."

Foggy kissed Matt and did up his belt. "Anything you say, dear."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Gerry Rafferty's "Home and Dry"
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> [I'm on tumblr](http://werelibrarian.tumblr.com)


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